He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother
by Glory Alchemist
Summary: Originally "Cuddle Time". The road is long, with many a winding turn that leads us to who knows where, who knows where. But I'm strong, strong enough to carry him. He ain't heavy, he's my brother.
1. Chapter 1 Comfort

**This is my first atempt at an actual story with chapters. For those of you who read "Cuddle Time", this is the same story, only extended. I've decided that I'm going to do a proper job by this, and that includes quotes and a meaningful title. Good quotes are a lot harder to find than you would think. I hope you are pleased with my efforts.**

**I do not own Star Wars.**

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><p><em>The road is long<em>

_With many a winding turn_

_That leads us to who knows where_

_Who knows where_

_But I'm strong_

_Strong enough to carry him_

_He ain't heavy, he's my brother_

_-_Bill Medley, _He's My Brother_

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><p>"<em>He comforted us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble."<em>

_-_2 Corinthians 1: 4

Soft night had descended on Coruscant. Life continued in an unceasing stream across the city planet, the endless cycle of beings living out their lives under the bright neon signs of Coruscant's night life. In Torrent Company barracks, however, silence and darkness prevailed. All the bunks were filled with slumbering clones grabbing what rest they could before their next deployment.

In bunk K36-B, CT-3291/1260, Oscar to his brothers, dozed lightly. His legion had just returned from a strenuous mission to Ord Mantel that afternoon. The engagement had not ended well, and Oscar was nursing some rather painful abdominal bruises. As a result, he was cranky and had had trouble falling asleep. His mind was just skirting the edges of longed for unconsciousness, when something tugged at his sheets with an almost shy, yet insistent rhythm, dragging him forcibly from his half slumber.

Growling softly under his breath, Oscar turned over and regarded the intruder with bleary, accusing eyes. It took him a second to recognize the person standing by his bunk. It was CT-007, Runt, the newest member of Torrent. He was three inches shorter than the average clone, with the smaller build to go with it.

A lot of the other clones in the company weren't sure how to react to the younger trooper; some even seemed weary of him. It was a lesson ingrained from the earliest days on Kamino: don't interact to closely with those that are different or "deficient," because they'll be reconditioned and so will you. But Oscar liked the younger clone, and he wasn't on Kamino anymore. He wasn't about to let the Kaminoans dictate his actions from thousands of light years away. So the kid was strange. He was a shiny, they were all a little strange.

Runt was grasping his left elbow with his right hand, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. The military issue sleep clothes that all clones wore were to big for him, the shirt slipping off one shoulder and the pants hanging loosely from his hips.

"Wa' do you want?" Oscar grumbled, blinking to clear his eyes.

Runt shifted uncomfortably, glancing around the room before finally returning his gaze to Oscar.

"I can't sleep," he said. His voice was so quite that Oscar had to strain to hear him over the sounds of the AC unit, the muffled thud of armored boots in the hall, the soft breathing and occasional snores from their sleeping brothers. Runt paused. "Can I sleep with you?"

It took a minute for Oscar's sleep blurred brain to make sense of what Runt had said. When it finally registered, he sat up sharply and glared at the younger clone. To be honest, he wasn't even sure why he was so upset at the idea. All he knew was that his instinct was telling him that it was _wrong_.

"What's wrong with you?" he hissed. Oscar was suddenly very grateful for the darkness that hid his embarrassed flush from view. "Can you sleep with me? No! No you can't! Where'd you get such a _stupid_ idea?"

Runt's shoulders hunched slightly, as if he was seeking shelter from the other clone's words. "It's just…on Kamino-when we couldn't sleep-my brothers and I…we-"

"No. In case you haven't noticed, you're not on Kamino any more. I'm _not_ one of your brothers. We _don't_ share beds in the GAR, so if you can't sleep or you're scared or you had a nightmare, well _suck it up and deal with it_, because I couldn't care less!" All this was delivered in a fierce whisper, Oscar glaring daggers at the younger clone and even leaning forward slightly to make sure that he'd conveyed his point fully.

Runt's small body flinched back at his words. He blinked rapidly and ducked his head. Oscar still saw the bright glint of tears in his eyes before he mumbled something barely audible that sounded like "sorry for waking you" and ducked out of sight to his own bunk, K36-A, right beneath Oscar's.

Oscar flopped back down on his mattress and waited for sleep to come, but the only thing that came was a flood of guilt and shame. _The poor kid does have a rougher time of it than I did_, he thought. When they were deployed from Kamino, most clones stayed with the unit of one hundred brothers they were trained with. Even though you were thrown into a completely unknown galaxy that your training really didn't prepare you for, at least you still had your brothers, people you could depend on to watch your back.

But Runt and his brothers were experimental. There were only twenty of them, and they had been scattered throughout the army. What's more, they'd been sent out a year sooner than any other clones, with a year less training. _Fierfek, he's only nine_. And that Ord Mantel debacle had been the kid's first deployment, and it had been a failure. Oscar thought privately that the information Intel had given them on Separatist defenses and droid numbers had been complete poodoo. As usual. It was really no surprise that Runt was having trouble sleeping.

More guilt bubbled up. Oscar had just realized that Runt must have had to trust him to ask if he could sleep with him. That was the kind of question you only asked a close friend. Or a brother. _And what do I do? I go and yell at the kid for being young… scared… lonely. Tells you what kind of person _I _am_.

Oscar shifted around and stared at the ceiling of his bunk. He flopped onto his left side, then his right side. He kicked off his sheet and pulled it back up. He sat up and punched his pillow into a more comfortable position and dropped down onto it face first. He rolled over and stared at the ceiling. This wasn't working.

Oscar leaned over the side of his bunk and peered into the one beneath him. Runt was curled on his side, back to the walkway, head buried in his arms. Another wave of shame tightened Oscar's throat, and it took him a second before he could speak. "Hey, Runt…you know, I really wouldn't mind sharing a bed with you. That is, if you still want to."

There was a long pause, and Oscar was certain that the younger clone didn't want to have anything to do with him. _And I don't blame him_. Then Runt suddenly slid out of his bed and scrambled into the upper bunk. Oscar shifted over to make room for him, but the kid pressed close, like he was desperately seeking out warmth from Oscar's body. After an awkward pause, Oscar rapped his arms around the smaller body and pulled it closer, shifting them around until he was lying on his back and Runt's head rested on his chest. He could feel tears soaking slowly into his sleep shirt. Oscar cursed himself mentally and held the kid a little tighter. Tension drained out Runt by increments. His body soon lay relaxed and limp against Oscar's. He seemed on the verge of sleep. The emotional strain had taken its toll on Oscar as well. He could feel his eye lids growing heavy and beginning to close.

"Sleep well, little brother," he whispered. "Tomorrow I'm going to teach you how to play darts."

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><p><strong>Please review.<strong>

**mad'ika**


	2. Chapter 2 Friendship

**Here's chapter two. Once again, I do not own Star Wars, only Oscar and Runt.**

**FYI, Runt is an EOD, which meams explisive ordnance disposal (bomb disposal). Basically, his job is to disarm booby traps and UXBs (unexploded bombs) so that other troopers can advance.**

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><p>"<em>But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,<em>

_All losses are restored and sorrows end."_

_-_William Shakespeare

Tense silence pervaded the gym. If someone had walked in just then, they would have been knocked flat by an invisible wall of anxiety-anticipation-excitement.

Oscar's eyes stung and watered; he hadn't blinked for seven minutes strait. His teeth and jaw ached. The bones in his hands moaned in protest as he clenched them in tight, unrelenting fists. His eyes darted from the large digital clock on the wall to the three men on the floor and back again.

_Come on_, he thought, tightening his fists further and grinding his heals into the floor mat. _Come on, come on…_

The clock continued its inevitable countdown. Twenty-five… twenty-one… seventeen… fourteen…

The attention of every clone in the room was trained on the three men on the floor. They worked away methodically at the piles of wires and mechanical parts in front of them. They seemed oblivious to the fact that they were the center of attention, that so many hopes and dreams were riding on their shoulders, that their actions could make or break everyone in the room.

Oscar felt he would die from the suspense. His whole body thrummed with tension to the point where his stomach churned in protest, and he broke out in a cold sweat.

Eleven… nine… eight…

Captain Rex stood to one side of the three men, body tense, ready to make the call.

_Come on, come on. Please…_ Oscar strained even harder in an unconscious effort of will to affect something that was beyond his control.

Two… one. BUZZ.

The devises two of the clones crouched over went off with muffled explosions, enveloping their heads with plumes of bad-smelling smoke. The third froze, then thrust both fists in the air in triumph.

"Runt!" Rex roared, pointing at the young clone and declaring him the winner. The EOD contest was over.

Oscar let out a whoop so loud that it chaffed his throat and partially defined his neighbors. Triumph washed through him, and he grinned as though _he_ had been the one to dismantle the dummy bomb in record time.

"Oscar!"

Hearing the excited shout, he turned just in time to catch the ecstatic Runt that cannoned into him.

"I did it, I did it! Did you see? I won. My first time, too. I beat Charge, and even _Deadswitch_. I actually did it!" The kid beamed up at him, all bright smiles and large, excited brown eyes. He had a grease smudge on the side of his nose.

Oscar laughed ad hugged him roughly, pounding him on the back and ruffling his hair. "You _did_ do it," he exalted. "You won! I told you you would. Not to mention the winnings you got me. Enough dessert passes for two months. _Two months_. We'll eat like kings!"

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><p>Runt had been with Torrent Company for three months now, and Oscar was amazed by the changes he'd seen. When Runt first arrived, he'd been quiet and reserved; a small, shy thing, sticking to the edges of rooms and conversations alike, never volunteering anything.<p>

Until the night he'd asked Oscar if he could sleep with him.

The next day they'd gone down to breakfast together. After leaving the food line, Oscar had sat down with his usual table mates, Gett, Vin, and Fallback. He had been about to start eating, when he'd became aware that his brothers were staring at something. He'd turned and seen Runt standing awkwardly, clutching his tray and looking at him with a desperate mixture of hope and uncertainty. No words had been needed. Oscar had shifted over to make room for the smaller trooper and set to work on his breakfast.

After that, Runt blossomed. That was the only way to describe it. There always seemed to be something new for Oscar to learn about his little brother, and every new thing added up to create a more complete and detailed image of the young clone that Oscar found almost breath-taking to look at. He would never admit it, even under pain of death. Someone had to retain some dignity in this relationship.

Runt loved animals of all kinds. When he and Oscar were on the parade ground once, he'd ran off in the middle of a conversation to stare in fascination at a neon blue collared lizard clinging to the wall. He was right when he told an exasperated Oscar that they didn't have things like that on Kamino.

He was mesmerized by bright colors. Oscar had to keep a close eye on him the few times General Skywalker allowed the clones to wander Coruscant so that he didn't get lost in a crowd of brightly colored beings and get left behind.

Oscar had never seen such a fast sprinter. Despite his shorter legs, the kid could even outrun Speedy, the fastest runner in Torrent. Oscar also learned , much to his dismay, that Runt favored spicy food, the kind that would take the roof off the older clone's mouth. Needless to say, the kid's food was safe from him.

And through Runt, Oscar learned more about himself than he ever suspected.

He'd always considered himself a bit of a loner. Sure, he had friends and brothers he was close to, like Gett, but he wasn't intimate with any of them. He always made a conscious effort not to invest too much in anyone; ever since Kamino. Ever since Cosmos.

But then Captain Rex thrust Runt on Oscar with instructions to get his familiar with the barracks and schedule of Torrent Company, because, after all, they were bunk mates. Suddenly, Oscar had someone who was dependent on him, someone who looked to him for guidance and reassurance. Someone who needed him.

It changed everything.

He'd never thought he could be responsible for another being, and yet he found himself looking after Runt: helping the kid adjust to the company lifestyle; giving his shoulder a squeeze when he needed support; letting him sleep in his bed when the kid came to him, shaking from some nightmare and unable to sleep alone.

_Fierfek_, Oscar mused. _I think this pipsqueak is going to be the making of me._

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><p><strong>Please review.<strong>

**mad'ika**


	3. Chapter 3 Nightmare

**Sorry for the delay; it takes me a while to type these up. The rating is going up to T from here on in for war themes. I hope that won't keep you from reading it. The real meat of the story begins now.**

**I do not own Star Wars.**

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><p>"<em>Those with the greatest awareness have the greatest nightmares."<em>

-Mahatma Gandhi

_Rain was falling, but he didn't feel. His armor insulated him from the weather, kept him dry._

"_Me, right. Data, Clanky, over the wall. Oscar, Cosmos, circle 'round the left."_

"_Yes, sir."_

_He turned left, his boots slipping slightly on the wet platform. He couldn't get enough traction. That wasn't good._

"_I swear, I'm going to slip and break my neck. What an inglorious way to go."_

"_Shut up, Cosmos."_

"_Ooh, someone's prickly today. What's go you so worked up?"_

"_You'd be 'worked up', too, if you had any sense. I don't want to fail the exercise. And I don't much like the idea of dying in training, either. I want to have a chance at some real combat."_

"_Relax, brother. No one's going to fail or die. Not while I'm here. I've always got your back, remember?"_

"…_Yeah. You do."_

_He slipped along the wall and stopped near the corner. He turned his head, and Cosmos's visor was pointed right at him. He knew the face behind that helmet so well it could have been his own. He knew the tiny flecks of amber and gold in those otherwise brown eyes. He knew the tiny scars on the right temple that were all that remained of a shrapnel wound. He knew the way the left side of the mouth quirked up ever so slightly when that devious mind had thought of something amusing, usually irreverent._

_Cosmos raised his right had, signaled _advance_. They both moved at once, DCs raised, ready to fire at the first moving target._

_There was nothing there._

_That wasn't right. Where were the commando droids? All he saw was a rain washed deck lit by intermittent flashes of lightning._

"_Hey, where-"_

_The platform in front of them lit up in a ball of light. He was tumbling, flying. The only thought that passed through his head was _They were behind us_. Then he hit something solid, and the world came to an abrupt halt._

"_Behind us! They're behind-"_

"_Clanky, on your left!"_

"_Look out!"_

"_I can't get a clear shot!"_

_He was moving before he'd registered that he was even standing. His legs carried him across the deck at a run. Another explosion. The force of it punched him simultaneously in the back and the soles of his feet. He nearly fell, then dove behind some crates. He found himself visor-to-visor with Cosmos._

"_You okay, Cos?"_

"_Never better. These tinnies aren't a match for us."_

_Blaster bolts shot overhead. They rose up on their knees and returned fire._

"_Man down! Stang, Clanky's hurt. Oscar, Cosmos, get over here, I need backup!" _

"_We're comin', Sarge."_

_They rose together, DCs held at shoulder level, and advanced across the deck, keeping up a steady stream of fire. They were almost there, he could see two prone forms in white armor pinned down by two commandos. Only one was returning fire._

"_Grenade-"_

_White light filled his visor. His whole right side was burning, even through his armor. He didn't even realize he'd been sent flying again until he hit the wall._

_There was shouting. Strangely enough, he could hear the _hiss_ of rain hitting his heated plates better than he could the voices over the com. His helmet systems were probably damaged. _

_He was already struggling to push himself up. His arms kept giving out, but he finally managed it. There was a good sized crater in the deck, not four meters away. _Fierfek, that was close_. Off to his right, another sprawled figure. Cosmos hadn't gotten up yet. His brain seemed to have stopped working properly. There was something wrong with his brother, but it took him what felt like several minutes to work it out._

_He was missing most of his head._

Oscar's eyes snapped open. His breaths came heavily, his fists twisted in sheets that were damp with sweat. His heart pounded in his ears, and his chest ached with old loss.

_I haven't dreamed about that in ages_. He squeezed his eyes shut against the sharp sting of tears that threatened. He concentrated on regulating his breathing, on the familiar _hum_ of the _Resolute's_ engines as she carried them through hyperspace. To Surcaris.

_Why did it have to be now?_ Oscar thought miserably. _Why now?_

Oscar was not superstitious by nature, no clone was. But the return of the old nightmare had left a cold feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, added to the uneasy feeling he'd already had about this mission from the start.

The planet Surcaris was situated at an important hyperlane intersection that both the Separatists and the Republic wanted to control. At the moment, the Separatists had control of the planet, so Torrent Company, along with Sarlacc A and B Companies and Gold Squadron, had been sent under the command of General Quinlan Vos with orders to liberate the planet. This, of course, was easier said than done. To take control of the planet, they first had to take the capital, where the Separatists had established their base. Information gathered from reconnaissance of the area indicated that there where at least four battalions worth of droids stationed on site, not to mention those that might be patrolling the surrounding countryside. Really, an entire battle group should have been assigned to the engagement, but, with their forces spread so thin, Fleet Command could only afford to send a few companies of clones.

To make matters worse. Intel had somehow found out that the Separatists were taking the opportunity to test out some new booby traps and new model explosives.

_Of course_, Oscar thought dourly, _they wouldn't manage to come back with any sort of detail. Oh no, _that_ would ruin heir reputation. Typical Intel. Typical _useless_ Intel._

He let out a shaky breath and loosened his death grip on the sheets. His heartbeat had slowed, and he could once again hear the sounds of his brothers sleeping all around him. Oscar could make out Runt's soft snuffling in the bunk bellow and smiled a little.

The nightmare had retreated back beneath the surface of his conscious mind. But it left behind a sour taste in his mouth and an unpleasant bubbling in his stomach. The sense of dread still coiled at the base of his spine, refusing to be banished like the dream that had brought it.

Oscar had been certain of few things in his short life. But there was no doubt in his mind now: he was not going to be sleeping again tonight.

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><p><strong>Thank you so much to those of you that have reviewed this story. I read all of them, and they really do inspire to keep writing. If you have comments or sujestions about the story or other stories, those are welcome, too. The next chapter should be up tomorrow.<strong>

**mad'ika**


	4. Chapter 4 Bad Feelings

**Here's the next chapter. Sorry for the short length, but the next one will be longer.**

**I do not own Star Wars.**

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><p>"<em>I have a bad feeling about this."<em>

-said by pretty much every Star Wars character at some point

The morning was spent in what felt like post battle daze. Oscar was use to being anxious before engagements-he'd be worried if he wasn't-but this was different. The cold dread of the night before hadn't left, and to make matters worse, his stomach kept churning unpleasantly, to the point where he'd only picked at his breakfast.

Oscar was very grateful for the on-board 'freshers. He locked himself in a shower stall and stood right beneath the faucet, letting the hot water pound down on the crown of his head and chase away wall thought.

"Oscar?" A worried voice rose over the _rush_ of the water. "Are you okay?"

Oscar felt a twinge of annoyance and clenched his jaw. Runt had been bugging him since they woke up, kept pestering him, asking if he was okay. He wasn't the only one. Gett and Vin had given him worried looks at breakfast. Fallback had opted for the more direct approach, telling him that he looked like Bantha _osik_ and asking if he'd had enough sleep. Even Captain Rex had gotten in on it. He'd pulled Oscar aside after morning workout and asked in a quiet voice if there was something bothering him.

Of course there was. When wasn't there something bothering him? But that didn't mean he wanted to spill his guts to the entire company.

"Oscar?"

He'd been tight with tension since he woke up, in a constant state of stomach churning anxiety. Now all the worry and dread and frustration of the last eight hours rushed up within him and exploded out, aimed at the nearest target.

"Fierfek, Runt, I'm fine. Do you hear me? _Fine_. Never better. Just back off, would you? Even if I wasn't fine, _it's none of your kriffing business_. So just bug off and give me some space. The last thing I need right now is you breathing down the back of my neck. Go pester someone else."

Even to his own ears his voice sounded bitter and angry, tight with tension.

For several minutes, there was only the sound of the running water. Then a softer, slightly shaky voice spoke, so that Oscar had to strain to make it out. "O-okay, Oscar. I'm s-sorry, I'll leave you alone."

This was followed by the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps, the _whoosh_ of the 'fresher door opening and its soft _chunk_ as it closed. Running water was once again the only sound in the room.

"Fierfek," Oscar muttered. He scrubbed at his wet hair and sighed in frustration. He hadn't meant to snap at the kid, but he could only take so much fussing before it got to him. Runt would be avoiding him now. In all honesty, Oscar didn't feel like being around him at the moment. He wanted some time to himself to try and work out why he had such a bad feeling about this mission. There would be plenty of time later to find the younger clone and make amends.

_Yes_, he thought as he turned back to his shower, ignoring the small twinge from his conscience. _Plenty of time._

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><p><strong>Please remember to review, they keep me going.<strong>

**mad'ika**


	5. Chapter 5 Crash Landing

**As promissed, this chapter is longer than the previous one. I hope you enjoy it.**

**I do not own Star Wars.**

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><p>"<em>I don't care to be involved in the crash-landing unless I can be in on the takeoff."<em>

-Harold Stassen

"Come on, let's move! _Move!_"

As it turned out, there was no time. Captain Rex's voice had snapped over the ship-wide intercom just as Oscar was getting out of the shower, ordering all troopers to report to the hangar bay within ten minutes. After that, it had been a mad dash back to the bunkroom to change into his armor-he didn't have time to dry his hair-grab his DC-15, and then a rush down to the hangar bay.

A sea of white armor broken by brightly colored paint schemes filled the hangar as troopers raced to the LAAT/i gunships and pilots headed for their fighters. Oscar caught sight of Runt in the crowd. The kid was pretty easy to spot, what with being three inches shorter than everyone else. He also had a distinctive paint scheme: blue 501st stripes on his arms and legs and a bright red fox on his chest plate. But there were too many people between them and to much noise to even consider shouting. Oscar tried to force his way through the crowd, but armored me didn't more easily, and he was caught up in the tide and carried into the nearest gunship.

_Oh, well_, he thought, pushing away his growing unease. _I'll find him on the ground._ Oscar managed to shoulder himself a seat between Sergeant Verd and a clone with gold chevrons on his armor that he didn't recognize. The ship was soon packed. Those unlucky enough not to find a seat hung on to the grip straps hanging from the ceiling. The soft _whirr_ of the drives starting soon became a distinctive, humming, high-pitched roar as the engines came to life. The airframe shuddered, then fell into a steady vibration that Oscar felt in his back teeth. The familiar sensations and sounds calmed him in a way that nothing else could. A larty was the most beautiful thing any soldier could ask to see when he was in a tight spot and needed a quick evac. A larty was reassurance. It was safety.

The engine's distinctive sounds didn't seem to be having their usual effect, though. The tightness in his chest hadn't abated. His stomach gave an unpleasant lurch as he felt the gunship preparing for liftoff. Turning in his seat, Oscar strained to see out the side slats before they closed, hoping to catch a glimpse of Runt.

He didn't know why he was so bothered about this. Runt had been with Torrent for five months now, and he'd been in countless engagements. He might still be young, but he wasn't a shiny anymore. Oscar knew the kid could take care of himself. He _knew_ it. But…but he didn't know what. Maybe it was the fact that he'd snapped at the younger clone, that he'd taken his fear and frustration out on him. What if something happened? What if he never got to tell Runt that he hadn't meant what he said, that he liked having him around?

_Stop it_, he told himself firmly. _That's just your guilty conscience talking. The kid knows you didn't mean what you said back there. He must know._

But Runt's quiet, tear-filled voice echoed in his ears, louder than the larty's engines.

Belatedly, Oscar realized that he was staring at bare metal. The side slats had been sealed for takeoff. He turned back around, trying not to jostle his brothers overly much. That was nearly impossible, there was barely enough space to move around in. Oscar concentrated on checking the charge on his DC and running a quick diagnostic on his helmet, just to make sure everything was working. It paid to be prepared.

He felt it when the gunship launched from the _Resolute_ and dove down into the atmosphere. The ship shuddered and bumped alarmingly for a few seconds, then settled out. An instant later, the side slats reopened, exposing the clones to the deafening roar of air. Oscar felt the slap of the wind, though he couldn't feel the temperature, for which he was grateful. At this altitude and speed, it was probably freezing. Oscar checked his HUD to see how fast they were going: five hundred kph. It was a sobering speed. It was at moments like this when armor really came into its own. The artificial climate kept him warm, and his helmet protected his ears from the screaming wind.

Oscar's stomach lurched from the swoops and dips of the flight path as the pilot jinked to stop ground-based AA fire from getting a lock. Another larty came up on their port side. There were thirty-four gunships somewhere near, strung out in a loose formation, heading for various drop zones.

"Three minutes, boys," the pilot's cockpit intercom said. There was a crack and flare of something exploding off to their starboard side. "Contact, repeat, we have contact. A squadron of hyena bombers coming in at three o'clock."

Oscar's stomach tightened further. He hated this part. He could do nothing against the enemy. He was vulnerable, completely dependant on the pilot's skills to keep him alive. _Runt's pilot better be a good one._

Suddenly, the larty that he'd seen on their port side exploded. The shockwave shook their gunship. A few troopers lost their balance and fell to the floor. Then the ship jerked so hard to the right that Oscar was thrown from his seat and into the lap of the brother across from him. He heard the pilot shouting, "_Brace brace brace-_"

And then there was light: brilliant blue-white light, followed by a screech of tearing alloy as one of the side doors of the larty was ripped away. Oscar couldn't get a good grip. The wind grabbed him with greedy fingers and dragged him toward the gaping hole in the ship's side. Suddenly, his movement was stopped. The clone whose lap he'd fallen into had grabbed his hand, anchoring him against the pull of the wind. Oscar gave him a grateful smile, which the other couldn't see behind his helmet. He acknowledged it with a nod anyway.

Their victory was short-lived. Another explosion rocked the ship. It shook, twisted in midair, and began to dive. The abrupt jerk ripped Oscar's hand loose from the other clone's grasp, and, with a silent scream, he was dragged through the hole and out into the open air.

Oscar fell. Everything blurred around him, and he couldn't tell up from down. He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the sickening blue-orange swirl of sky and earth.

Time seemed to slow. He knew he was still falling, but he was also hanging still, frozen in this second. He could feel the tug of wind on his plates, like a friend trying to get his attention. Faces and images filled his mind: Cosmos, always there to watch his back, until, one day, he wasn't; Gett, fixing his ankle in medbay after he'd sprained in during morning workout; General Skywalker, telling them that they were receiving their first leave and that they were allowed to leave the barracks; Runt, giggling at an illicit comment Oscar had whispered to him when the captain's back was turned; Runt, bringing him caf from the mess when he was laid low in medbay with a broken collar bone; Runt, scrunching his face up in confusion when Oscar read him an article from an economist journal that he enjoyed. Runt…

He hit something in midair. Oscar gasped as he tumbled even more wildly, then he struck the ground. He hit on his right shoulder, sending white fire bursts of pain down his arm. He would have screamed, except all the air had been driven from his lungs. Then Oscar was tumbling and rolling. Sky and ground blurred together again, until he finally came to a stop at the bottom of what must have been a hill.

It took a few seconds for Oscar to realize that he was still alive and in one piece. He pulled himself into a sitting position just in time to see what had been his gunship blown out of the air. He was far enough away not to have to worry about shrapnel. Oscar felt a pang as he thought of the brother who'd grabbed his hand to keep him from falling. He hadn't known the man's name.

Looking down, Oscar was amazed to see that, through all that, he'd still managed to hold onto his DC.

Oscar shifted slightly and winced at the hot pain that flared in his right shoulder. He shifted his DC to his left hand and stood slowly. Amazingly, beyond the general aches and pains that were to be expected when you fell out of a ship, his shoulder seemed to be the only real injury that he'd obtained.

Once he was on his feet, Oscar took the opportunity to survey his surroundings and try to get his bearings. Most of the settlements on Surcaris were underground in cave-like warrens. The few buildings that were on the surface were about two klicks off. That was where the Separatists had established their base. That was the objective.

The landscape between the base and Oscar's current location was all sharp hills and abrupt drop-offs covered in loose, gritty orange soil. Perfect for getting your neck broken if you weren't careful. Fine dust hung in the air, creating a disorienting orange haze and severely limiting visibility. All in all, Oscar decided, not a very soldier-friendly place. _I hope Runt made it down safely._

Movement to the left caught Oscar's eye. He could see a small detachment of clones making their way toward the distant buildings while fighting off battle droids on STAPs. So some had made it down safely. Oscar heard a faint buzz of static over his helmet com, but he was too far away to pick anything up. After a quick check to make sure no droids had spotted him, Oscar set off at a brisk jog in the direction of his brothers.

_Runt, you'd better be okay._

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><p><strong>Dun dun <em>dun<em>. The next chapter should be up no later than tomorrow. Please review.**

**mad'ika**


	6. Chapter 6 Brother

**Be forewarned, this chapter has some disturbing imagry in it. It should also be known that I know nothing about dectivating bombs, it is all meer speculation on my part.**

**I do not own Star Wars.**

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><p>"<em>Nothing can come between us<em>

_You're a brother of mine."_

-Anderson, _Brother of Mine_

When Oscar reached the other clones-about thirty in number-they were under heavy droid fire. They were making due with what cover they could find, firing back at the droids and trying to drag wounded brothers to safety.

Oscar dropped to his knees and reached blindly to his belt, groping for the EMP grenades he always made a point of carrying with him after Christophsis. His hand closed around one of the small metal spheres and he didn't pause, simply hurled it at the largest concentration of droids. The grenade went off, and the droids within range fell sparking to the ground. Not all the droids were hit, but enough were immobilized for the clones to advance, firing as they went.

Oscar fell in with them. No one asked questions; they were simply glad to have another brother to watch their backs.

As the small force pushed their way toward the building complex, Oscar caught sight of other groups that had made it down safely, all converging on the target. A group that was a few hundred meters ahead of Oscar's broke into a run, making for the Separatist stronghold.

They didn't make it.

An explosion peppered Oscar's visor with dirt and lifted two troopers meters into the air. Then another explosion, and another, and then the whole group was swallowed in flame and dust.

"Mines," someone yelled over the com. "Stop, there're mines!"

Most of the clones froze. Some didn't, and more explosions erupted from the ground. The droids took advantage of the troopers' hesitation and moved in, guns blazing. Pulverized rock and dust filled the air, making it impossible to see more than a few meters in any direction. The clones were now trapped between the advancing droids and a mine field.

_Whose bright idea was this, anyway?_ Oscar wondered. If they'd sent in an air strike, they wouldn't have had to bother with a ground assault at all.

Suddenly, Captain Rex's voice erupted over the com, rising above all the other voices. "Get the EODs in here, we need to get through this mine field. Men, provide covering fire!"

Oscar tuned obediently to face the ranks of droids even as his stomach dropped and the dread that had been coiled at the base of his spine rose, snaking its way up his spinal cord to writhe about the base of his skull. _Runt…_

As Oscar traded fire with the droids, he paid close attention to the chatter in his helmet. The EODs were talking with each other, updating, giving advice and warnings. He recognized Charge's voice, and Deadswitch's, and finally-_finally-_-Runt's. The kid was all grim determination and calm, quiet efficiency. Despite the direness of the situation, Oscar felt almost overcome with pride. He wanted to turn to the trooper next to him and say, "You hear that? That's _my_ brother." _My brother…_

"I've never seen wiring like this."

"Must be some of the new ones Intel was talking about."

"Watch the connection on the green one, looks loose."

"Copy that."

"Easy does it now."

"Careful."

"Almost…"

"Blast! Look ou-"

A sudden explosion ripped through the air.

"Kriff it! Kriff it!"

"Keep your head, Nox."

Oscar tried to filter through the voices as he ducked behind a low rise to change his DC's power cells. He finally managed to pick out Runt's voice among the EOD chatter.

"I think there's some sort of trip switch," he was saying.

"Any idea where it is?"

"Not sure. Wait, I see something."

"Go carefully, Runt…"

"I think it's he-"

Another explosion-this one much closer-rocked to ground, blowing more dust and fragments of dirt into the air. The force of it threw Oscar to the ground, jarring his injured right shoulder and making him see stars.

"_Nnnoooo…" _

Someone was wailing. It was a horrible, grief-stricken sound, and it took a second before Oscar realized _he_ was making it. He staggered upright and stumbled blindly in the direction of the most recent explosion. He could no longer hear the com chatter, the blaster shots, the shouted orders. The world had fallen eerily silent, except for a stuttering heartbeat that wasn't his. It filled the immense silence, beating an uneven tattoo on the inside of his skull.

_Please please please please_. It became a mantra, chanted in time with the foreign heartbeat.

A muffled sound. He fell to the ground, struggled upright, fell again. His legs didn't seem to want to work. Too bad, they had no choice. He forced them to move, forced them to carry him. Another sound. He staggered, fell again. This time his helmet was ripped off. He plowed face first into the dirt. There was grit in his eyes and mouth, something wet running down the side of his neck. He pulled himself up again, made it two more steps before he fell. His legs wouldn't work…

The heartbeat faltered.

He pushed himself up on his arms. The right one gave out, refusing to take his weight.

The heartbeat faltered again. It was more erratic, stopping and starting, with longer and longer silences between each beat. Those silences became voids that threatened to swallow him whole.

Oscar was back in his nightmare, but this was much worse. In this nightmare, he couldn't move. His body wouldn't obey him, no matter how much he cursed it. It had to obey him, though. He had to move, or Cosmos would die. _But it's not Cosmos_, a small voice whispered. _It's Runt. It's your little brother._

_Come on come on, vape it, COME ON!_

With an animalistic snarl, oscar surged upright. He ran, his feet fumbling beneath him for balance. Then suddenly he was falling again. This time though, it wasn't an explosion that had knocked him down; he'd tripped over something. Oscar looked over his shoulder.

It was Runt.

The kid was a mess. His armor was scorched back, melted in some places. His abdomen was peppered with shrapnel holes where pieces of rock and metal had simply punch right through his armor. Both his arms were missing. They'd both been blown off above the elbow. It looked like they'd been _shredded_ off. And there was blood everywhere. The dirt around the young clone looked like it had been dyed red.

Oscar turned to the side and vomited onto the dirt. Tears ran down his face, carving paths through the dust and grime, mixing with the vomit on his chin before falling to the ground. Oscar wiped a trembling hand across his mouth and reached out with the other. It hovered uncertainly above Runt's burned neck, trying to find a place that wasn't covered with blood to rest on. There wasn't one.

Oscar pressed two fingers lightly to Runt's neck, shuffling over on his knees so that he could hunch his body over the kid's smaller one, trying to provide some sort of protection. Oscar's own heart nearly failed him when he couldn't find a pulse. Desperately, he pressed down harder, leaned in closer until his nose was almost touching Runt's helmet. Blood dripped off the end of his nose and fell on the black visor.

_Cosmos's helmeted head looking right at him._

Oscar shook off the dream, concentrating on his black gloved fingers and the burned skin beneath them.

_Just bug off and give me some space._

His own voice filled his head, bitter and mocking. _The last thing I want right now is you breathing down the back of my neck._

_Not true… not true…_

_Go bother someone else._

Oscar choked on his sobs. He pressed his forehead against the helmet beneath him.

_Okay, Oscar._

This time it was Runt's voice, so small, so far away.

_I'm sorry._

_Don't say that. There's nothing to be sorry for, it was my fault, not yours._

_I'll leave you alone._

_No. NO! Runt, I didn't mean it! I want you, I want you! Don't go, don't leave me. Please! _PLEASE!

A flutter beneath his fingertips. Oscar's head jerked up, stared intently at his hand on Runt's neck as though that would somehow verify what he'd thought he'd felt.

Nothing… nothing… noth-there!

Another soft beat. Another pause. Then another beat.

He was alive.

With a desperate sob, Oscar rocked back on his heels, once again blinded by tears. But these were tears of gratitude. Runt was alive. But neither of them would be for long if Oscar didn't find a way to get them out of here.

Training that was ingrained as deeply as instinct took over. Runt was lying flat on his back. Fumbling at his belt, Oscar managed to produce webbing that was often used when troopers needed to carry something and didn't have enough hands to hold it. With fingers that were quickly becoming numb, Oscar looped the stuff around Runt's body, arranging it so that there were loose straps of webbing that he could slip his arms through.

Oscar paused in his work, overcome by a sudden bought of dizziness. He put a hand to the left side of his head, and it came away bloody. He touched his head again, something felt out of place. Belatedly, he realized that his left ear was gone. Oddly enough, he couldn't feel any pain.

Concentrating on the task at hand, Oscar slid on top of Runt, back-to-chest, then slid his arms through the webbing and rolled them both over so that he was lying underneath. Raising himself on his shaking arms, he drew his legs to a kneeling position and then stood up with Runt secure on his back. He staggered under the sudden weight, legs threatening to give out. But he stood strong, with his brother's weight across his back. He didn't fall.

Just as Oscar was looking around to get his bearings, Captain Rex's voice barked out of the backup comlink on his wrist. "All troopers, head for evac zone Z-36. Repeat, Z-36. We're banging out." Even with the poor reception on the wrist com, Rex's voice sounded tense, tight with suppressed pain and loss.

Oscar set off at a staggering run towards the evacuation zone. His legs threatened to fail at every step, but they held. A familiar high pitched _thrum_ filled the air, drowning out the blaster fire from the advancing droids and retreating troops. A larty flew low overhead, setting down not twenty meters away. Oscar almost cried at the sight of that ship, that beautiful ship. But he had to save all the breath he had for running. Runt's head bumped against the back of his neck with every faltering stride.

What felt like an instant later, Oscar was tripping over the edge of the ship, tumbling inside only to be caught by the hands of his brothers and gently lowered to the deck. He let out an exhausted sob of gratitude before the blackness of unconsciousness rushed up to claim him.

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><p><strong>Thank you to those of you who have stuck with this story so far, it means a lot to me. to be honest, I don't know how long this thing is going to be since I never really planned on writing it in the first place. But reviews will help insure that it keeps going.<strong>

**mad'ika.**


	7. Chapter 7 Frustration

**Not much happens in this chapter, but the next one should be a little more interesting.**

**I do not own Star Wars.**

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><p>"<em>When life demands more of people than they demand of life, what results is a frustration with life almost as deep-seated as the fear of death."<em>

-Tom Robbins

Sound filtered in slowly. He was aware of being moved.

"Prep… he… tank…"

Everything went dark again.

The next he knew, he was wet. He could hear voices, but no words. The sounds where too far away, too foggy. This time he could make out vague, shadowy shapes high above him. One bent over him, filling his limited field of view. Something cool was pressed against his forehead, his chest. The shape-the person?-said something to the others. Something pressed against his neck with a soft _hiss_, and everything faded.

This time when Oscar woke, he heard distinctly the beeping of a heart monitor. The sound sent him into a panic. The foreign heartbeat in his skull. The heartbeat faltered. His legs wouldn't work.

_No no no!_

Melted armor. Blood everywhere. No pulse beneath his fingers.

_Runt!_

He was vaguely aware that the beeping had increased to an alarming speed. There were shouts, something was holding him down.

"No, you can't keep me here! I have to find him! Where is he? Runt!" He tried to shout, but all that came out was a hoarse croak. His lips were parched, his throat on fire. There was a soft _hiss_ beneath his right ear, and he was dragged down, kicking and screaming, into unconsciousness.

Oscar woke up slowly this time. Sound came first, then weak light, blurry images, and finally he could see. He was in a small, sterile ward. Six beds lined the walls, three on each side. They were all surrounded by beeping medical equipment, and they were all filled with clones. There were no decorations on the walls. The only source of natural light came from a partially tinted window at the end of the ward. The place smelled of disinfectant and fluoride-based cleaning solution. It stirred uncomfortable memories at the back of Oscar's mind, memories of clean, white rooms, flat, bare tables, and tall, grey beings with slender necks and unfeeling yellow eyes. Oscar viciously pushed those memories away.

The door slid open, and a young woman in white scrubs came in. she went from bed to bed, checking monitors and making notes on her 'pad. When she came to Oscar's bed, he looked at her expectantly, but she showed no signs of even noticing that he was awake. He cleared his throat, and when that didn't work, he spoke.

"Excuse me, ma'am." His voice came out stiff and rusty with disuse.

The woman started, looking at him like she'd just noticed that the bed was occupied. Her stare unnerved Oscar. It made him feel like some sort of horribly wrecked speeder that everyone stared at out of morbid curiosity, and he almost decided not to say anything to her. But the deep, burning desperation to _know_ drove him forward.

"Do you know anything about Runt's condition?"

"Who?"

"Runt. He's my brother, he… he lost both his arms, and I wanted to know if… if he…" He trailed of into silence and looked at her pleadingly. She stared back, confusion on her face.

"I'm sorry, trooper, but I have no idea who you're talking about."

Oscar squeezed is eyes shut. Of course, they would use serial numbers here. The hospital staff couldn't be expected to learn the silly nicknames that clones gave themselves.

"CT-007, do you have anything on him?"

The nurse checked her datapad. She frowned slightly, and Oscar's stomach plummeted.

"Yes… yes, I do. CT-007? He's in the bacta tank, condition critical."

Oscar took a shaky breath and let his muscles slowly untense. Runt wasn't in the clear-far from it-but at least he was alive. That was something.

At the moment, it was all he needed.

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><p>Oscar hated feeling confined.<p>

The bandages were driving him crazy. There was one wrapped around a good half of his head just to cover what used to be his left ear. He was certain that it wasn't all needed. Wouldn't just a gauze patch do? The stuff itched horribly, and he couldn't scratch it properly because his right arm was immobilized against his chest in a sling. The bandages around his legs weren't too bad. He really couldn't feel anything down there.

A medical droid or a nurse came by once a day to check his bandages and change them out. Oscar had given up any attempts to talk to them. Every time he asked about Runt or his other brothers, they either told him that they didn't have access to that information or outright ignored him. The frustration of the situation was almost enough to make him prematurely grey.

Oscar wasn't allowed out of bed. Apparently, he'd taken considerable shrapnel damage to his legs and lower back. He'd been told-when a doctor finally got around to seeing him-that he'd undergone major surgery to replace severed tendons and shredded muscles. The doctor had assured him that he'd have full use of his legs again, but for the time being, he needed to stay in bed.

He had been in the hospital for a week when an MD finally removed the sling from his arm. The droid ran several tests, having Oscar move his shoulder through its complete range of motion. Aside from some initial stiffness, everything seemed to be in complete working order.

The ear was another matter entirely. The doctors wouldn't have been able to reattach it even if they'd had it, and ears were one of the few body parts that couldn't be realistically replicated by prosthetics. Instead, Oscar had been fitted with a hearing aide that attached to the side to the side of his head.

He scowled at his reflection in the mirror held up by one of the nurses. The MD had just removed the bandages from his head so that he could take his first real look at his new _ear_. "Fierfek, I look like I'm growing droid parts." He was also in need of a good shave.

At the mention of _droid parts_, however, Oscar's stomach gave an unpleasant lurch. Runt had lost both of his arms. The kid would need two cybernetic replacements, not to mention whatever else the doctors had needed to replace with synthetic parts. Oscar himself now had more synthwire tendons in his legs than actual tendons.

_How much of the kid is there actually going to be left if-_when_, you idiot,_ when_-he recovers?_

The thought made Oscar feel lightheaded. He leaned back against his pillow, eyes closed, and took slow, deep breaths.

"Are you all right, trooper?"

_I have a name, you know_. "I need to see Runt."

"Who?"

He clenched his teeth and opened his eyes to glare at the woman. "Runt, CT-007, my brother. _I need to see him."_

"I'm afraid I can't allow that."

"Why the shab not?"

"You've been confined to bed rest for four more days before it's safe for you to put weight on your legs."

Oscar just barely managed not to curse the woman to the nine Corellian hells. _Forcedamn their bed rest. I'm going to see Runt, and I'd just like to see them try to stop me._

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><p><strong>FYI: If you've ever seen <em>Treasure Planet<em>, I imagine Oscar's hearing aide looking like Long John Silver's cyborg ear piece. I just couldn't think of a good way to describe it. Please review.**

**mad'ika**


	8. Chapter 8 Guilt

**I do not own Star Wars.**

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><p>"<em>Guilt is anger directed at ourselves."<em>

-Peter McWilliams

Things quieted down once the nightshift started.

Oscar lay in his bed, eyes half closed, and carefully observed the movements of the smaller night staff. He wasn't certain, but after three hours, he thought he had a pretty good estimate of when the droids and nurses did their rounds. Now it was simply a matter of actually getting out of bed and on his feet. Oscar made sure to switch the monitors off first before disconnecting himself from them. He'd watched the MD do it often enough to figure it out.

Once he was sure he wouldn't set off any alarms, Oscar shifted himself over until he was seated on the edge of the bed, feet planted on the floor. Putting most of his weight on his arms, he carefully levered himself into a standing position. His legs trembled under him. He was going to need something to help him walk. Casting his eyes about, Oscar spotted a pair of crutches leaning against the end of the bed next to his.

_Jetster wouldn't mind if I borrowed those._

He shuffled along the floor, hands tightly gripping the guardrail, to the end of the bed. Once there, Oscar simply leaned out and swiped the crutches. One of the advantages of being a clone was not having to adjust them for height. With the crutches situated firmly under his arms, Oscar headed out the door.

Once in the hall, he looked around. _Kriff, I don't actually know where I'm going. Didn't that nurse say he was in a bacta tank? What if they've moved him?_

Oscar decided to start with the bacta tanks, and if Runt wasn't there, figure out what to do then.

He followed the signs on the walls, swinging along on his borrowed crutches as quickly as possible. He hadn't run into any staff yet, but the longer he stayed out in the open, the more likely it was that someone would find him.

Oscar longed for the time when his body obeyed him effortlessly. He was a clone and used to being in top physical condition. Having to use crutches simply to remain upright was infuriating. To add to his complaints, Oscar noted rather sourly that the hospital gown he was wearing barely skimmed the tops of his knees. He felt positively naked.

Arriving at the lift, Oscar quickly consulted the data screen next to the doors to figure out which floor the bacta tanks were on. When the lift arrived, Oscar swung himself in and pressed the correct button. The lift began to move.

_So far, so good._

Oscar's legs were trembling and sweat was beading on his face and neck. He tightened his grip on the crutches and ignored the growing discomfort.

The lift dinged softly, and the doors opened. Oscar swung himself into a hallway identical to the one he'd just left. Only the signs giving directions were different. He followed them down the hall, turned left, and saw a door marked _Bacta Tanks_. There was another data screen next to this door like the one by the lift. Oscar limped over and entered _CT-007_. The screen flashed the number of the tank Runt was in: 4497-D. He entered the room.

_Fierfek._

The room was huge. It looked to be about the size of the _Resolute's_ hangar bay and was filled with row upon row of cylindrical bacta tanks. They were all full. The blue-green bacta gave off an eerie light that cast strange shadows against the walls. The place was completely silent, except for the soft, subliminal _hum_ that issued from the tanks.

As Oscar limped along the rows of tanks, he couldn't keep himself from looking in each one. Every tank contained a man with an identical face; his face. It could just as easily be him in one of those tanks. It was the first time that Oscar had ever been bothered by sharing the same face with so many others.

_Do they ever wake up while they're still in there? They all look dead. Has anyone ever… drowned in there?_

Oscar quickly pushed those thoughts away and concentrated on the next step. He could feel the growing strain in his legs. His whole body was trembling now.

_It doesn't matter, none of it does. I need to see him._

After an eternity of tanks, he finally found the right one. The number on its base read _4497-D_. Oscar looked up at the person inside.

Runt hung weightless in the harness. There was a breather mask attached to his face, and he was dressed only in tight fitting black swim trunks. His head hung limply, lulling forward, and his eyes were closed. His hair floated gently around his head like a dark halo.

Oscar tried to evaluate him clinically, tried to remain detached. There were burn scars on the right side of his face and neck, continuing down his shoulders and chest. His abdomen was peppered with white shrapnel scars. And his arms…

Oscar couldn't do it.

He tried to tale a deep breath, but it felt like his lungs were glued to his shoulder blades; they wouldn't expand enough to allow him to breathe. His breath was more of a gasp and tears burned his eyes.

This was his fault.

Somehow, this was his fault: if he hadn't gotten angry and caused Runt to worry; if he hadn't said those… those _horrible things_ to the kid; if he'd managed to get on the same larty; if he'd only found the younger clone when they were on the ground. If he'd done something-_anything_-differently, Runt wouldn't be floating in that bacta tank, looking like he'd drowned. He wouldn't be covered in scars and missing both arms. He'd be back at the barracks, beating Oscar at a game of darts and relaying a dirty joke that he'd heard from some of the older clones in complete innocence, while Oscar tried not to die laughing.

_I'm sorry_.

He could only mouth the words as his breathing faltered and tears dampened his cheeks. Oscar pressed his forehead to the tank, then both hands, letting the crutches clatter to the ground unnoticed. Without the support, his weakened body couldn't hold itself up. Oscar slid slowly to the floor, still pressed as close to the glass as physically possible, as though he were trying to pass through it so that he could touch the smaller body on the other side.

_I'm so, so sorry._

Unconsciously, Oscar began to whisper a song that he'd learned when he was just off Kamino, one he'd taught to Runt on a long, boring day when it was raining too hard to play bolo ball on the parade ground. So long ago.

"_Kandosii sa ka'rta, Vode an._

_Coruscanta a'den mhi, Vode an._

_Bal kote, dorsum kote,_

_Jorso'ran kando a tome._

_Sa kyr'am Nau tracyn kad, Vode an."_

The ancient, rhythmic chant soothed him as it always had. The words, translated from _Mando'a_ to Basic, echoed in his mind from when his first sergeant taught him and his brothers.

_One indomitable heart, Brothers all._

_We, the wrath of Coruscant, Brothers all._

_And glory, eternal glory,_

_We shall bear its weight together._

_Forged like the saber in the fires of death, Brothers all._

His breathing calmed. His tears stopped. Oscar's mind felt clear, washed clean by the fiery words. He looked up at the young clone in the tank with calm eyes.

"I'll take care of you, Runt. I swear it. Brothers all."

The next morning, a rather startled nurse found a clone curled up next to a bacta tank, asleep, while she was doing her first rounds of the day. There were dried tear tracks on his cheeks, but he looked peaceful.

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><p><strong>The song in this chapter is <em>Vode An<em>. Your reviews inspire me to keep writing, so if you like this story and want to find out what wiil happen to Oscar and Runt, please review!**

**mad'ika**


	9. Chapter 9 Waiting

**I had a few good laughs writing this chapter. I certanly wouldn't want Oscar as _my_ patient. SBDs are Super Battle Droids.**

**I do not own Star Wars.**

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><p>"<em>Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worse kind of suffering."<em>

-Paulo Coelho

Whatever sense of calm Oscar had found the night before quickly evaporated with the forced return to his bed.

There was either a nurse or an MD keeping watch over him all hours of the day and night for the next two weeks. Apparently, the hospital subscribed to the old saying "fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me," with a religious intensity. Oscar was confined to enforced bed rest for the duration of those two weeks. Every hour, on the hour, a nurse came to the ward to check on him and make sure that he hadn't pulled a fast one. And every time they stuck their head through the door, Oscar asked for an update on CT-007's condition. And every time, he got the same answer delivered in an increasingly exasperated tone of voice.

"His condition is unchanged."

_Never knew I'd be such a terrible patient_, Oscar mused. Sure, he'd been injured before, but it had all been relatively minor. A mild concussion, a few broken ribs, every now and then a blaster burn. The worst injury he'd ever been treated for was a projectile round to the left elbow. Then he'd been in surgery and kept in the hospital for a few days before being cleared for duty. This time, he was confined to a bed for the foreseeable future, he had a metal chunk for an ear, he couldn't stand without his legs giving out, and he was completely cut off from any information on the state of the war. It was enough to drive a man insane.

Oscar had thought things couldn't get any worse. Then the doctor told him that he would need physical therapy before he was able to walk properly again. Yes, as it turned out, things could get worse.

Oscar was certain that his physical therapist had been spawned in the deepest of the nine Corellian hells. She was a small, wiry woman in her late sixties who looked like she ate SBDs for breakfast. She wouldn't have looked out of place in the uniform of the Galactic Marines, rifle in hand, spouting orders and abuse at her unfortunate subordinates. She certainly had the vocabulary of a soldier. Oscar's rehab sessions would definitely have been rated R for the foul language on both sides by the Holofilm Ratings Bureau. Between the two of them, they kept the entire ward entertained.

A month passed. Oscar was almost finished with his rehab and was allowed out of the ward for short walks each day. He was almost ready to be discharged and returned to duty. Instead of being relieved, however, he only felt a growing sense of unease. In all this time, he hadn't heard a thing about Runt.

_I'd know if something had happened, wouldn't I? Someone would know and they'd tell me. Wouldn't they?_

The doubts continued to plague him. Oscar stared morosely at the ceiling, waiting for his breakfast to be brought. The doors opened, and a nurse walked in pushing a cart with two trays on it. Oscar and the clone across from him, a combat engineer called Sky, were the only ones left. All the others had been discharged. The nurse stopped at Sky's bed first, then came to Oscar's.

"Any news?" He didn't even have to tell her whom he was asking about anymore.

"Yes, actually," the nurse said as she set the tray down on his side table, well within reach. "CT-007 was removed from the bacta tank early this morning and was taken into surgery to attach his cybernetic arms. He should be out and awake by lunch."

Oscar sat up sharply and stared at her in amazement, which was quickly turning into delight. An unbelievable sense of relief flooded him, and a weight seemed to lift from his chest. Runt was okay.

The nurse continued to talk. She must've been in a very good mood, because Oscar couldn't remember her ever saying so much to him. "That little friend of yours is pretty lucky. I heard that the surgeon, Dr. Phenilis, almost canceled the operation because of the amount of nerve damage in his arms. No point in fitting him with prosthetics if they can't connect to his nervous system. But they went ahead and prepped him. They must have found some way to make it work, because he's in surgery now. I must say, that Dr. Phenilis is really something." She gave a little sigh and proceeded on out the door, completely missing the look on Oscar's face.

His look of growing delight had changed instead to one of blank horror. He stared vacantly at the breakfast tray in front of him, not really seeing it. He was caught in the terrible realization of what had almost happened.

If there had been too much nerve damage and the surgeon had called off the operation, then Runt wouldn't have any arms. Without arms, he couldn't even feed himself, let alone dewire a bomb. He'd be useless as a soldier. And useless clones weren't kept around. They were discharged from the GAR and sent back to Kamino where…

Oscar's mind threw up barriers against the very thought. A cold shiver ran down his spine, and he blinked sweat out of his eyes.

_It didn't happen. There wasn't too much nerve damage; he's in surgery right now. He'll be out by lunch. He's not going to Kamino. He's safe._

His fist hurt. Oscar blinked down in mild surprise at the bent fork he was holding in a white-fingered grip. He gingerly set the utensil down and reached for his cup of fruit juice. The tangy coolness of the liquid running down his throat cleared his head.

_The nurse said he'd be out by lunch. I'll find out what room he's in and be there when he wakes up. _

With this course of action set firmly in his mind, Oscar went about eating his breakfast with a renewed vigor.

After his morning rehab session, Oscar was burning with impatience. The nurse seemed to take forever to bring lunch. When she finally entered the room, he demanded to know what room Runt was in and what his condition was.

"Well, lucky for you I asked about that. His surgery went fine, and he's in room K374, on the 186th level. However," and here she pointed a threatening finger at him. "You are not allowed to see him until you've eaten your lunch."

Oscar growled in annoyance but relented, even remembering to mutter a grudging _thank you_ as she left.

"You're welcome."

If he finished his lunch in record time, Sky didn't comment on it. Oscar slid out of bed, pausing to grab the bathrobe draped over the back, and hurried out the door. He nearly sprinted to the lift, shifting around impatiently for it to arrive. When the doors finally opened, he almost bowled over two doctors and an MD who were getting out. Oscar didn't bother to apologize, simply pressed the button that would take him to the 186th floor.

The doors opened, releasing Oscar into the corridor. He paused to ask directions from a passing nurse, then headed down the hall at a brisk pace.

K368... K370... K372... K374.

He paused outside the door, suddenly uncertain. What would be find on the other side? _You'll never know until you look, you moron. Stalling never did anyone any good._ He stepped forward, and the door opened.

Runt was lying on his back, his hands lightly resting on top of the undisturbed bedclothes. He was very pale, with dark purple bruises framing his closed eyes. The scars that were visible didn't look as bad as Oscar remembered from that guilt-filled night over a month ago. The younger clone had been soaking an bacta for a while; that would reduce, if not entirely eliminate, the scarring. The kid looked like he had lost weight in the tank. Oscar knew that was common, but it didn't ease the concern he felt. Runt had been small enough as it was.

Finally, his eyes settled on Runt's arms. The bare durasteel of them stood out sharply against the white sheets and Runt's pale skin. The metal shone dully in the room's artificial lighting. No synthskin had been provided. It made sense, with the supply shortages. Runt really didn't need the stuff to do his job. Oscar still felt as though he'd been cheated.

_He's so still. He's usually always moving._

Oscar ignored the chair in favor of perching on the edge of the bed, right foot on the ground and left leg swinging free. It was still a relief to take the weight off his legs. His therapist had said that it was likely that he would still feel a little shaky, even after he was discharged. The healing process, she had remarked with surprising gentleness, took time.

He reached out a hand and touched Runt's head. He'd been out of physical contact with his brothers almost the whole time he'd been in the hospital. It wasn't until now that he realized how much he'd missed this. To simply be able to reach out and grab a brother's shoulder or thump him on the back. He hadn't realized how much he needed this.

Runt's hair felt slightly limp after his long submersion in bacta. Oscar didn't care. He'd been worried sick over the kid, eaten alive by shame and guilt at the possibility that the last thing he'd said to his little brother had been _Go bother someone else_. Now he could feel Runt's hair beneath his hand and see the gentle rise and fall of his chest. The kid was alive, and he was safe.

Oscar let out a shaky breath and shifted them around on the bed until he had an arm around Runt's shoulders and the kids' head was nestled in the dip of Oscar's neck and shoulder. With his other hand, he reached down to lightly grasp one of the metal ones resting limply on the sheets. Settled comfortably, Oscar closed his eyes and let his mind and body rest, simply waiting for Runt to wake up.

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><p><strong>Runt will finally wake up in the next one. Please review.<strong>

**mad'ika**


	10. Chapter 10 Waking Up

**First, let me be clear: THIS IS NOT A ROMANCE. They've been through some very traumatic expeariences and they both thought they'd lost the other. In Oscar's case, it's helped him get over his old aquardness at showing "unmanly" affection, and possibly made him a little over protective. In Runt's case, it's made him more clingy and uncertain of himself, because he's still coming to terms with the loss of his arms. Again, not a romance, just brotherly affection and releif at being alive. **

**I apoliagize for the length. I just can't seem to right long chapters. I guess that just means that there will be more of them. I hope you like that.**

**I do not own Star Wars.**

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><p>"<em>Sadness flies on the wings of the morning and out of the heart of darkness comes the light."<em>

-Jean Giraudoux

Oscar became aware of something brushing against his cheek. Something soft and… fuzzy. _Kitten_ his sleepy mind thought, dredging a picture of a cream colored fluff ball that he'd seen on a data pad. He stroked the kitten. This one had shorter fur than the one in the picture, but it still felt very pleasant. He turned his head and buried his nose in the kitten's fur. It smelled clean and fresh. _I wonder what color it is._

"Oscar?"

That was strange. He hadn't thought kittens could talk. At least, the data pad hadn't said anything about it. Well, this kitten had a nice voice, though it sounded a little hoarse. A little squeaky, too. He sniffed it again, then pressed a sleepy kiss into its fur. "Good kitten…"

"I'm not a kitten. Oscar, are you asleep?"

"Shhzz…"

Silence for a bit. Then something poked him. Grunting is surprise, Oscar opened his eyes to see a pair of large brown eyes in a pale, scarred face staring back at him. Runt was awake.

Oh. Oscar's mind seemed to be having trouble catching up. He blinked slowly. "You're not a kitten."

"That's want I said."

They stared at each other a little longer. Then a slow smile pulled the corners of Oscar's mouth up.

"You're awake," he murmured, then pulled the younger clone into his arms and simply held him. Runt pressed his face into Oscar's neck. A sense of peace and serenity settled over the room. Nothing needed to be said, at least not yet.

Runt shifted after a while, took a shaky breath, then spoke. "I'm sorry." His voice was muffled against Oscar's neck.

"For what?" Oscar asked absently, his fingers playing with the short hair at the back of Runt's head.

"For pestering you in the shower. I didn't mean to bother you, I was just worried, you looked so unhappy, and I thought-" Runt was almost babbling, his voice thick with unhappiness.

Oscar grabbed Runt's face between his hands and forced the kid to look at him. "That wasn't your fault," he hissed, then gentled his voice when the younger flinched. "You didn't do anything wrong, do you understand? It was all me. I was scared and frustrated, and I took it out on you. I shouldn't have done it. When you got hurt, I was terrified that the last thing I might ever say to you would be something so untrue. I couldn't ask for a better brother."

He searched Runt's eyes before finally saying the simple truth.

"I love you."

There had been a time not long ago when even the idea of saying something like that out loud would have sent Oscar screaming for the hills. But after a month of dread and heartache, such a reaction seemed silly, even childish. As did all the old reasons for putting _appropriate distance_ between himself and the kid, simply to keep face in front of his brothers. Oscar had finally come to understand that those who were truly strong felt no shame in telling the truth. And seeing the way Runt's eyes teared up at the simple, heartfelt statement made him wish he'd said it sooner; that it hadn't taken almost losing the kid before he finally set aside his selfish pride and could admit the truth. This was a high price to pay for his foolishness.

Oscar glanced down at Runt's hands twisted feebly in the bed sheets. He untangled one and gave the cool metal a gentle press. There was a pause as Runt's face scrunched up in concentration. His fingers twitched, then weakly squeezed Oscar's before going slack. He turned his head away in shame.

"How can I do my job now, when I can't eve control my hands?" It was barely a whisper, dull and hopeless.

Oscar's stomach tightened with guilt. Runt had always been deft with his hands. His fingers were small and could move quickly and lightly. He'd always been better at darts than Oscar. Now he'd lost both his arms and could barely move the cybernetic replacements. He'd require months of hard physical therapy before he'd be fit to go back to the front line.

"You'll get your control back. I bet it'll be no time at all before you're beating me at darts again and winning all my dessert passes," he teased lightly.

Runt gave a weak smile in response, but his eyes still looked shadowed.

Oscar's jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. He'd made a promise to himself to take care of Runt, and he'd do it. It was the only way he could think of to make amends, and if that meant looking after the kid until his dying breath, it was something that Oscar would do gladly. No one would stop him from keeping his promise, not even the kid himself.

Brothers all.

Oscar could tell that the young clone was already getting tired. It would be a while before he was at full strength again. _Same goes for me_, he thought, suppressing a yawn. He shifted them around on the bed into a more comfortable position, Runt's smaller body cradled against his own. Oscar saw no need to go back to his own bed when he could sleep just as well, if not better, here.

Suddenly, the door slid open. Oscar looked up in surprise to see an equally started brother standing on the other side. There were braces on both of his legs, and he was leaning on crutches. He had an ugly, raw looking scar on his face that started on his left cheekbone and cut diagonally across his cheek and lips to end at the point of his chin.

The man's look of surprise changed quickly to one of soured annoyance. Oscar didn't like the way his eyes swept over them, lingering on where Runt's head rested on Oscar's chest, on their entwined fingers, and on the arm Oscar had wrapped around Runt's shoulders.

"Oh, sorry," he said. Oscar thought he detected a sneer in his voice. "I must have gotten the wrong room. Did I… interrupt you?"

Oscar glared at the other man. "Can I help you?" He didn't try to keep the edge out of his voice.

"Oh, no. I'm just passing through. Didn't mean to disturb you. Completely my fault." he turned and hobbled away before Oscar could respond, the door closing behind him.

_What's his problem?_ Oscar glanced down and was surprised to see Runt looking back at him through half-closed eyes. _I thought the kid was all ready asleep._

"Who was that?"

"I don't know," Oscar grumbled. "Just some jerk. Ignore him, he's not our problem." _Our _problem. It felt good to say that.

"Mhhmmm…"

Oscar let out a slow breath and closed his eyes. _Jerk_. There was something about that clone that just rubbed him all the wrong ways. _Well, it doesn't matter. I'll never see him again, anyways_.

He felt himself relax and sink into the first truly peaceful sleep he'd had in over a month.

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><p><strong>Any suggestions for names for the scarred clone would be welcome; he's going to show up more later. Please review.<strong>

**mad'ika**


	11. Chapter 11 Recovery

**I do not own Star Wars.**

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><p>"<em>Recovery does not come quickly, nor is it without a price."<em>

-Unknown

The next few weeks were hard.

Oscar was discharged soon after Runt's surgery, but the younger clone had to stay behind. Oscar went to visit him when ever he managed to get free time. Gett, Vin, and Fallback came with him sometimes. He'd run into Charge and Deadswitch coming out of the kid's room, as well as other EODs. Even Captain Rex and General Skywalker came to visit once. Whenever these visitors were in, Runt put on a brave face. He smiled and laughed and talked about _when_, not _if_. He asked about the war and talked trade with the other EODs. To everyone who visited, he was the same old Runt, happy and enthusiastic. If he sometimes got a distant look in his eyes or trailed off in the middle of a sentence, no one thought anything of it. It was to be expected. He was, after all, recovering from a serious injury. It was completely understandable that he got tired and occasionally lost focus.

Only Oscar saw beneath the façade the kid had created. Only he thought to looked.

Only he saw Runt's true feelings. The shame over being unable to complete such a simple task as picking up a spoon without help. The frustration at being stuck in a hospital bed while his brothers could ship out to the front at any minute. The anger at his hands' refusal to cooperate when he tried to do tasks that used to come so easily. The fear that, despite intense physical therapy, he would never be as good as he'd once been. That he would never be _good enough_.

Only Oscar was there during Runt's rehab sessions. Only he saw the tears of frustration in the kid's eyes as he worked painstakingly slowly to lift a cup, tie a knot, or draw a strait line. It was terrible to watch Runt struggle through exercises the he once would have done without thought.

Oscar was the only one there in the early mornings to see the dark circles under the young trooper's eyes that showed how much he was having trouble sleeping. And he was the only one there late at night to hear the kid whimper and moan in his sleep as he was besieged by nightmares.

Oscar did everything he could to help, to distract him. He told Runt the latest company gossip and wildly outrageous stories about what certain senators liked to do in their spare time. He read to him from the data pad. He snuck him up that hellishly spicy food that the kid loved so much. They played trivia games and did crosswords and sang ridiculous songs. Oscar even went so far as to sneak up a stray tusk cat cub that he found on his way to the hospital. They had great fun with the creature, which was surprisingly cuddly and affectionate, until a nurse came in and nearly had a heart attack at the sight of it in the hospital bed. Most of the time, Oscar's cheering-up attempts worked. Most of the time, the old Runt shown through, and everything was all right.

But not all the time.

There were days when, no matter how hard he tried, Oscar couldn't rouse Runt out of the depression he'd sunk into up to his neck. All he could do as sit with him and hope that by just being there he would manage to push back the darkness the kid seemed to be flailing around in, even just a little. Sometimes, it was all he could do.

Days like that left Oscar feeling discouraged and helpless. He hated seeing the kid so unnaturally still. Hated seeing him in pain and knowing that he couldn't shoot it and drive it away. It got so bad sometimes that the next day he would almost stay at the barracks instead of going to that Force forsaken hospital. Then he would imagine Runt fighting through his rehab session by himself, without his brother to watch his back. He would push himself out of bed and trudge down to the hospital.

Runt wasn't the only one who had nightmares. More than once, Oscar woke up in a cold sweat, his mind filled with fear and sorrow from a dream that he couldn't remember. Other nights, he relived losing Cosmos on Kamino, the Battle of Geonosis, or the engagement on Surcaris that had cost him his ear and Runt his arms. He dealt with these dreams in silence, unwilling to burden his brothers with his unpleasant memories. Telling Runt was out of the question.

The days continued slowly and painfully. On most days, it seemed like no headway was being made, as if for every two steps back, there was no step forward. But slowly, slowly, things improved. Runt gained more control over his new arms. He didn't need constant assistance to perform everyday tasks, though there were certain feats that were still beyond him. He grew more confident and smiled more, though they were never quite the same as before, bright and unshadowed. Oscar's nightmares diminished. He regained the full use of his legs and would be able to take part in the next mission, instead of staying behind on Coruscant when the rest of Torrent deployed. And finally, two months and eight days after Runt's surgery, he was discharged.

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><p><strong>Please review.<strong>

**mad'ika**


	12. Chapter 12 Trying

**This chapter did not want to be written. I had to wrestle it into submission and hogtie it before it would cooperate. That being said, I think tthis is my longest chapter yet, so enjoy it.**

**I do not own Star Wars.**

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><p><em>"Try not. Do, or do not. There is no try."<em>

-Yoda

Oscar relaxed against the doorframe and watched as Runt rifled through his equipment. The young clone checked every joint of armor, every seam of the bodysuit, every crack and crevice of his DC. Oscar had been taking care of the kit while the kid was in the hospital, but he wasn't offended. He'd have done the same thing in Runt's place. It never hurt to double check, and in the case of equipment, that last cursory glance could be the one that saved your life.

After thoroughly checking every bit of gear and carefully stowing it all in the deep-backed drawer beneath his bunk, Runt gave a nod of satisfaction and stood, brushing his hands off on his pants. The movement drew Oscar's eyes to the metal digits. He noted the way they moved, completely natural, except for… there. A small tremor. A moment of weakness. Runt might have been discharged, but he wasn't completely healed. He was still scheduled for weekly therapy sessions at the barracks' med center.

The older clone felt a weight in the pit of his stomach but made sure that none of his apprehension showed on his face when the kid looked up. He grinned and tilted his head suggestively to the right. "I don't know about you, Runt, but I'd sure like some breakfast right now. And as fascinating as it is to watch you clean your gear, there are better things we could be doing. Like getting breakfast."

Runt nodded enthusiastically and scrambled over to join Oscar in the hall. As the kid passed, Oscar couldn't resist giving his backside a playful swat. He snorted at the indignant yelp this elicited and looped an arm around his little brother's shoulders.

"Enough squawking, kid. I'm hungry enough that I just might eat you."

Runt huffed as they made their way down the hall, sticking to the side to stay out of the way of other clones and the occasional mongrel hurrying to and fro on important errands.

"You didn't have to hit so hard," he grumbled.

"Oh, please. It was a love tap. Did you see Epi when he came to visit you two weeks ago? Notice the black eye and stiff gait by any chance? He thought he could take me in a no-holds-barred wrestling match." Oscar smiled smugly. "He was wrong."

"You're just a bully." Runt stuck his tongue out at him. In retaliation, the older clone snapped at it playfully, making a show of trying to bite it off. He came a little closer than intended.

Runt squealed as Oscar's teeth caught the tip of his tongue. Their foreheads collided, Runt tried to pull back, their feet tangled, and the pair fell headlong to the floor.

"What in blazes are you two doing?"

Tilting his head up, Oscar found the source of the irritated voice. Sergeant Coric. Wonderful.

Oscar felt his face heating up under the sergeant's annoyed gaze_. We must make a sight for sore eyes_, he thought ruefully. Quickly rolling off the smaller body beneath him, Oscar scrambled to his feet and stood at attention, followed closely be Runt. Only one he was upright did Oscar notice the small group of clones standing behind Coric. New additions to the company to replace those lost at Surcaris.

Oscar's stomach soured at the thought. Losses had been high. Sarlacc A Company had been decimated; no survivors. Sarlacc B had fared the best, losing only a third of its forces. Torrent Company had lost half of its forces, and a little over half the remaining men had been injured. That was a lot of good men, good _brothers_, to replace.

The newbies where wearing armor. They'd learn soon enough that that wasn't how this company operated. Despite the fact that he was strict about discipline, Captain Rex let all he men wear their grey fatigues when not on duty. The man was hard as nails and as stubborn as a rancor, but he was a good officer who put the welfare of his men first and never asked them to do something that he wouldn't do himself. Oscar would follow his captain anywhere.

It was easy to tell which clones in the group were fresh off Kamino. Their armor was an eye-searing white, new and shiny, with no markings or battle scars. They stared at Oscar with that disconcerting mixture of uncertainty and confidence that all shinies seemed to have. Unsure what to make of this strange galaxy that was barely recognizable as the nice, neat world they'd learned about on Kamino, and yet confident that they could take it all on and come out on top, because their brothers had their backs.

The veterans were just as easy to spot, their armor a bright riot of colors and designs. And of course the marks of combat. The war had written a different story on each clone's armor, yet they all told of battles won and lost, friends saved and sacrificed, bright camaraderie and haunted dreams. And even if you couldn't tell by the armor, all you had to do was look at their eyes. Haunted. That was the only way to describe them. Veterans that were transferred to different companies were often the only survivors of their former units. These were men who had seen their brothers fall and heard their final screams. It showed.

There were nine clones standing with Sergeant Coric, six shinies and three veterans. A sudden cold prickle ran up Oscar's spine. He recognized one of them: the clone from the hospital, the one with the ugly scar on his face. It hadn't healed well. The skin around it was pale and puckered, and it drew the left side of his mouth down into a permanent look of displeasure.

The man's legs seemed fully healed. He stood straight and tall, giving no sign that he'd ever needed leg braces.

Oscar's eyes were drawn to his armor. It was divided into four quadrants, painted like an old Alderanian court jester's outfit, but there wasn't anything remotely funny about it. The lower right and upper left quadrants were painted a menacing black. The upper right section was a faded scarlet, like old blood, while the lower left was still the armor's original white. The overall affect was one of intimidation. It sent a clear message: _this is not someone you want to mess with_.

Coric gestured over his shoulder to the group of clones. "Since we're here, we might as well have introductions. These," he gestured to the six shinies, "are Smasher, Lars, Tan, Kurt, Shack, and Jask. This here," and now he turned to the veterans, "is Barrel, originally from Laser Company, Skinner from the 61st Airborne, and," he finally pointed to the scarred clone, "Crick from Starburst Battalion. Gentlemen, these two clowns are Runt and Oscar."

Oscar relaxed his formal posture and nodded a polite _hello_ to his new brothers, but he didn't take his eyes off Crick. The clone's eyes were like laser scanners, running over Runt and Oscar, missing nothing.

Next to him, Runt shifted slightly. It was the tinniest movement, barely noticeable, but Oscar saw it. The kid was uncomfortable, bordering on nervous. Crick saw it, too, and his eyes narrowed.

Oscar frowned slightly. He took a deliberate step forward and to the right, blocking the other clone's view and giving him a repressed glare.

"If that's all, Sarge," he said to Coric, "we'll be going now. We were just on our way to breakfast."

The sergeant nodded agreeably. "Sure thing. The Corellian hotcakes are really good today, but steer clear of the Bantha Breakfast Biscuits. Apparently, there was an unfortunate incident with the blue sauce."

Oscar nodded in thanks and turned to go. The movement jostled Runt's shoulder, seeming to break the kid out of whatever trance he'd been in. As they left, Oscar made sure to keep his body between Runt and Crick.

"Oh, and Runt," Coric's voice stopped them before they'd taken twelve steps.

"Yes?" Runt had to lean around Oscar's unmoving body to see the sergeant.

Coric gave a surprisingly gentle smile to the younger clone. "Make sure you heal yourself up properly. We need all our EODs, and you're one of the best."

Runt ducked his head, a flush of pleasure coloring his cheeks at the unexpected compliment. "Uh, yes, Sarge. I'll do that."

Oscar put a firm, almost possessive hand on the smaller clone's shoulder. "And I'll make sure he doesn't break himself trying to do it." His voice came out as a growl, but there was real affection in his eyes.

Coric grinned at them, then turned and lead the new clones down the hall. Oscar saw Crick look over his shoulder more than once before they were out of sight.

_What is it about that guy?_

He thought about it all through breakfast. What made Crick dislike them so much? Of course, Oscar supposed he could be jumping to conclusions. The first time they'd met, unfriendly behavior was almost excusable. He'd probably been in pain, and not just from his physical injuries. And this time, he hadn't actually done anything overtly hostile. It was more a feeling than anything else.

_Maybe it's not us. He might just be like this all the time._ But that didn't change the fact that Oscar didn't like him at all.

"Oscar."

His train of thought was interrupted by an insistent tugging on his arm. "What?"

"Oscar, let's play darts."

Oscar looked sharply at Runt. Neither had made any mention of the game over the last few months. He knew they'd been deliberately avoiding the topic. It they didn't talk about it, then it wasn't an issue. And yet, it hung over both their heads. The possibility that Runt wouldn't get enough dexterity back to be able to play. It wasn't something Oscar liked to think about, and he never brought it up.

Now he looked at the kid, trying to gage his state of mind: he was uncertain, despite the deliberately light tone of voice. But beneath the uncertainty was the quiet determination that Runt always exuded when he'd put his mind to something. There would be no talking him out of it; and who was Oscar to determine what the kid could and couldn't do.

"All right."

He kept his tone deliberately casual, muscles loose and relaxed as they left the mess hall and headed for their usual rec room. The door slid open, and everything was as they'd last seen it.

That struck Oscar as wrong somehow. After the trying events of the last four months-had it only been four months?-it seemed that this old haunt ought to reflect the upheaval somehow. Something should have changed. But there were the old drab-grey couches with their thin cushions. There was the battered durasteel coffee table with a pile of outdated holozines in the center. There was the ping-pong table and the holoplayer and the place on the wall where Mec had drawn a rather suggestive picture involving two speeder bikes and a Bantha. And there was the dart board, hanging on the wall by its magnetized grips, with the darts put away in the nearby storage cabinet. Nothing had changed.

Runt went over to the cabinet and removed two sets of darts. "I'm yellow," he said, passing the green set over to Oscar.

He took it without complaint and set about lining his darts up neatly between his fingers so he would have easy access to them. It was an old habit, almost ritual, and he did it without thinking.

Oscar went first. He sighted briefly down the dart, then, with a flick of the wrist, he sent it flying into the board. It hit the five, inside the triple ring: fifteen points.

Runt stepped up and took aim himself. He threw the dart. It missed the board entirely.

Oscar's turn. His dart hit the three.

Runt's turn. The dart missed the board.

Oscar's turn. The thirteen in the double ring. Twenty-six points.

Runt's turn. This time, the dart hit the black outer circle where the numbers were printed. No points, but at least it hit the board.

Oscar's turn, again. He hit the six in the triple ring. Eighteen points.

So far, the score stood at sixty-two to zero.

Runt moved up again. His dart hit the wall.

Oscar threw. Nine points.

Runt. Miss.

Oscar. Fourteen points.

Runt. Miss.

Oscar. Six points.

Runt. The black outer ring. No points.

Oscar. Ten points.

Runt. Miss.

Thirteen points. Miss. Six points. Miss. Two points. Black outer ring. Two points. Miss. Four. Miss. Eleven. Miss. Seven. Miss. Miss. Miss. Miss. _Miss._

Runt's hands were shaking so badly that he dropped the dart. They stood in silence. Oscar stared blankly at the board, covered in his green darts, then the wall, where Runt's yellow darts were lodged.

_It's not fair_.

That was all he could think, the only thought that came to his mind. _It's not fair._

Runt, head lowered, turned slowly toward the door. "I'm… going for a walk… fresh air…" He walked slowly from the room.

Oscar let him go. He didn't try to stop him. He didn't know what to say to make it better, to give the kid some hope.

He sank down onto the couch, and let his head fall forward into his hands.

He didn't know what to do.

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><p><strong>I know I said earlyier that this wasn't a romance, but I've been toying with the idea of making it one. I'd like your imput before I make any decisions, so if you don't usualy review, break that habit just this once and let me know what you think. You don't have to be a member to leave reviews. And I won't be able to update until I get some feedback, so don't drag your heals.<strong>

**mad'ika**


	13. Chapter 13 Courage

**The nays have it; this story will not be a romance. To be honest, I'm at a bit of a road block here. I'm not sure where to take it, so this is unofficially the last chapter, unless I can think of something.**

**I do not own Star Wars.**

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><p>"<em>Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, 'I will try again tomorrow.'"<em>

-Mary Anne Radmacher

It was all over the holonews: the power outages in the Jrade and Bindai Districts, Calocour Heights, and Quadrants A-4 through N-09. Officials insisted it was simply a series of power surges; regrettable, but nothing to panic over. Radical groups, however, like the Vaklu Enforcers, insisted that terrorists were responsible and took the opportunity to point out how far into the heart of the Republic the Separatists' malevolent hand could reach. The entire planet was already on edge from the war and the increased security measures. Now this additional disruption of normal life only served to ratchet up the tension and fear another few notches. Agitated crowds gathered on the walkways. Beings stood at their windows or on balconies, staring out at their once invulnerable home in sick apprehension.

A large swath of darkness cut through the normally bright expanse of Galactic City. All skylanes had been closed and traffic grounded in the affected areas. People were encouraged to stay off the streets until power had been restored. An uncanny silence hung over the usually lively and bright sectors.

Torrent Company Barracks, located right on the boundary between Jrade and Bindai districts, was caught in the blackout. However, thanks to whatever foresighted being had designed the facility, it was fitted with its own power supply for just such an instance. The lights that usually lit the parade ground and the corners of the buildings at night were out, but there were emergency lights on in the halls, mess hall, and medcenter. And the climate control still worked, which was a blessing.

None of this mattered to Oscar.

After the horrible dart game, he'd gone to the gym and worked himself into exhaustion on the punching bag and treadmill. He'd barely made it into his bunk before falling into a blessedly dreamless sleep. He'd woken up in time for lunch thanks to his stomach's insistent entreaties that he put something in it. He'd eaten by himself, then went to the firing range. The blackouts happened around 1700, just as the sun was beginning to disappear behind Coruscant's tall spacescrapers. After the initial alarm, everyone on base carried on as usual. There was no point making a fuss over something you couldn't control. The firing range was closed for safety, forcing Oscar to leave. After loitering around the halls, he'd finally admitted defeat and headed to the mess hall for dinner.

It was a casual comment from Vin that finally caught Oscar's attention. "I haven't seen Runt since breakfast. Where d'you suppose he is?"

Oscar's stomach had dropped. He hadn't seen the kid either, not since that morning when he'd said something about going for a walk. He'd excused himself and left his bemused tablemates to finish eating on their own.

Now, Oscar was starting to feel slightly frantic. He'd looked in every place he could think of: the bunk room, the 'freshers, the gym, the other rec rooms, beneath the tree on the edge of the parade ground, the medcenter. But everywhere he looked, no Runt.

_Where'd he vanish to?_

Oscar had a terrible feeling that this was somehow his fault again. If he'd said something to the kid, instead of just letting him leave like that. If he'd gone with him. Oscar had never known any clone who committed suicide, but he'd heard terrible rumors. Rumors about men who'd lost one brother too many, men who'd been severely injured and couldn't cope with the reality of living in a broken body, men who'd simply lost any hope that there was a reason to keep fighting.

A sickening dread settled in Oscar's stomach, even as he tried to discount the thoughts. That sort of thing rarely happened. Clones were made of tougher stuff than normal beings, designed to be able to take more and carry on regardless. But even clones had their breaking points.

_Oh, fierfek, Runt, where are you?_

The promise that Oscar had made in the Bacta Hall echoed in his mind, seeming to mock him with its certainty. _I'll take care of you, Runt. I swear it. Brothers all._

He ran face-first into something solid, hard enough to nearly knock him over. It took Oscar a second to realize that he'd run into another clone. The pale red emergency lighting made it hard to distinguish one brother from another, but there was no mistaking this one, not with that scar: Crick.

The look of annoyance on the other clone's face changed quickly to one of dark amusement, his scar causing his mouth to twist up into a sneer. "Hello, Oscar. Where're you off to in such a hurry?"

Oscar scowled, not bothering to hide his dislike. "None of your business, Crick."

"Oh, I think I could guess." The other man carried on as if Oscar hadn't said a word. "You're looking for that little friend of yours, aren't you? You two seem really close. I couldn't help noticing; it's rather obvious, you know." Now Crick's lips curled up in a real sneer. "I bet he keeps you _entertained_."

Oscar stared at the other trooper in cold fury. Every instinct screamed for him to hit Crick, to beat him until he couldn't stand. He wanted to _hurt_ him. The only thing that held him back was the knowledge that if he stopped to satisfy this urge, he'd be losing time that could be spent looking for Runt.

It was only thanks to years of strict military discipline that Oscar managed to walk past Crick without murdering him. His balled fist twitched as he imagined the satisfying feeling of driving it into Crick's face and watching his blood run over his knuckles.

He was only two paces away when the scarred clone turned to call after him. "I saw him heading for the access port to the roof. He looked pretty upset." He laughed. "Maybe he'll eat a blaster bolt."

Oscar saw red.

The next thing he knew, he was standing over a stunned Crick, his clenched fist aching. The other man had both hands pressed over his nose. Blood was already welling from between his fingers and running down his chin. Oscar could barely speak through his chest-clenching anger. "You say something like that again, and I'll kill you."

He turned and sprinted down the hall before the downed man could respond. Oscar had never run so fast in his life, no even during those training exercises on Kamino where they'd had to run a maze in under a certain time or they'd be given a painful electric shock. The Kaminoans had said the exercise was designed to improve the clones' memory. It had certainly taught them how to run fast.

Now the walls had become a blur. Oscar was aware of the rhythmic pounding of his feet and the way his arms swung in time with every stride. His lungs expanded, drawing in air before forcing it back out in a controlled explosion. His blood thundered in his ears.

He didn't remember entering the mechanical room or climbing the service ladder that maintenance used to gain access to the roof. The next thing Oscar was aware of was a cool breeze slapping him in the face.

Oscar's frantic pace was brought to an abrupt halt by the sight before him. The usually glittering expanse of buildings that surrounded the barracks was in darkness. There were no constant streams of light from the skylanes, no humming of speeder engines or blaring of air horns. The night was silent, save for the occasional hunting cry of a hawk-bat. Everything seemed to be outlined in a silvery light, and it took him a second to find the source.

Oscar stared in wonder at the sky. He'd never seen the stars so clearly. They were usually swallowed by the city planet's copious light pollution. But tonight, with a good deal of the city's artificial lighting gone, they shone brightly.

A small black figure sat perched on an AC unit not far away. His legs swung freely, not touching the ground, the heels of his boots occasionally bumping lightly against the unit. His weight was braced on his hands as he leaned back, head tilted so he could see the sky. The wind ruffled his hair gently and starlight outlined his features, erasing his scars to near nonexistence.

Oscar walked across the roof and settled next to Runt on the AC unit, sitting so that their shoulders barely touched. No words were spoken. They sat in silence, side by side, and let themselves be swallowed by the night.

"I'm going to keep working on it." It was spoken softly, with a clear, quiet calm.

Oscar turned his head and found Runt looking at him. All the stars' light seemed to be captured in his eyes in that instant. Oscar knew he'd never see anything more beautiful.

He didn't say a word, simply settled an arm around the other's shoulders and pulled the smaller body against his. The kid snuggled close, both his metal hands finding and holding Oscar's. Oscar tilted his head and pressed his cheek against the soft hair, feeling it tickle his nose as the wind moved it.

The night's silence descended again, and all was still.

* * *

><p><strong>If you have any ideas as to where this story could go, feel free to let me know. Please review, and thanks for reading.<strong>

**mad'ika**


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